


What You Need

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-06
Updated: 2006-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Pity fuck, Xander's brain reminded him, and it didn't matter, because he had wanted this, in a quiet dull ache that never really went away even when he pretended it did.





	What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Chosen. Like, within a couple of days. So you can imagine the marvel of mental health and stability that everyone involved in this fic must be. (However, this is just depressing, not "dark.")

And this was why he needed to learn to just shut up and stop trying to argue when he was this tired, Xander told himself, because Giles had been looking at him like at least one of them had lost his mind, and he'd been so far from being in the mood for sarcasm that he'd thought he might have to punch Giles in the face for it. Except not yet, because Giles' expression had gone soft and strange and unreadable, and then he'd said, "I wish I'd known that before now," and--

\--and Xander had not just fallen off the turnip truck, no sirree, and that either sounded like his grandma or Anya and either one of those was a bad, wrong thought and had nothing to do with the fact that he knew damn well that this was a pity fuck. That this was something that was supposed to make up for losing his eye, for losing Anya, for having his entire hometown disappear into a hole in the ground, even though both of them knew there was nothing, ever, that could even start to make up for any of that. Pity fuck, his brain reminded him, and it didn't matter, because he had wanted and wanted this, before Anya and after her and alongside her in a quiet dull ache that never really went away even when he pretended it did, and now that it was being handed to him on a plate (or on a brown-and-gold motel-room bedspread) he wasn't going to turn it down just because Giles felt sorry for him. He wasn't going to turn it down at all, because there was a weight settling onto the bed beside him and there were hands under his shirt, skin on skin and Xander just let himself relax into it. 

And then Giles was kissing him, slow and gentle and sweet enough that it _hurt_ , that Xander wanted to push him away because he didn't want Giles to pretend. He did want it, honestly, but then there'd be tomorrow and Giles wasn't _that_ good at pretending, and Xander was scared that if something else got taken away from him he'd wind up sitting at the back of the bus tomorrow, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees, and wouldn't _that_ reassure everybody? 

And so Xander did push, but not very hard, and Giles just shifted and then Xander forgot all about being afraid of how much this was going to hurt now, because there was _hot_ and _hard_ and Xander squirming to try to get to a good angle and then all of a sudden they hit a rhythm, and everything just clicked into place. And that was bad, that was _incredibly_ bad, because either this was a lie or something terrible was going to happen, because that was what that feeling of rightness meant and oh god, no, he couldn't do it, because that just meant the next time something terrible happened, it would be to Giles. 

And before he could say anything, Giles had moved, slid up to lean against the headboard and then pulled Xander up to join him, to sit in between Giles' sprawled legs and to have Giles' arm around him, and if this went back to being just sex he could probably cope. But it wouldn't, even when Giles undid Xander's jeans and pushed down his boxers and Xander watched with wide ey--with fascination, because he wasn't going to think that word right now--at the slide and tug of Giles' hand on his dick and yeah, see, meaningless sex was good after all, and never mind that Giles' other arm was holding him tightly and Xander could feel Giles' lips brushing softly over his neck, his ear, his hair, and the encouragement Giles murmured in his ear was making that ache in his chest start up again. 

And then he wasn't sure what things happened in what order, but there was Giles holding him even tighter, and a blissful moment of not thinking at all except things like _good yes more Giles now please oh god_ and then sliding, sticky and exhausted and still with Giles' arm wrapped around him, into the first real sleep he'd had in about a hundred lifetimes. 

And then it was _morning_ , and he was still doing a pretty good impression of a barnacle clinging to Giles, and Giles didn't seem to have moved. Xander braced himself for the moment when this started to suck, and he didn't have to wait long. 

And then there was Giles, talking around the problem like if you bored it to death it would go away, until he got to the part where he said, "Given recent, ah, events, I don't think it would be wise for us to.--" and Xander pulled away, rolled over to his side, and stared at the peeling paint where the a/c unit met the wall. "Not right away, at least," Giles was saying when Xander started listening again, and then there was that weird soft voice he'd used last night when he whispered to Xander that everything was going to be all right. "Though when you've had a bit more time to... to recover, and to think things through...."

And that hurt, just like Xander had known it was going to, but there was a new feeling in with it: maybe, just maybe, things would eventually get better.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt table, and the prompt, unsurprisingly, was "and." 
> 
> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
